


Primary Associations

by abyssopelagic_luminescence



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abyssopelagic_luminescence/pseuds/abyssopelagic_luminescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock gets kidnapped, John and Molly do stupid stuff and Greg regrets ever agreeing to do anything with either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If any spots any errors, grammatical, spelling or otherwise, please don't hesistate to point them out. This work is un-beta'd so I'd appreciate your help :)

Greg had just arrived at work when he got the call. Fuming- all his contacts knew perfectly well not to contact him via his private number during his working hours- he picked up the mobile ready to tear into whoever it was on the other end. The blocked number gave him pause. Greg didn't give out his private number to anyone but a few people. His ex-wife. John. Sherlock. Donovan. Anderson. Mycroft- not that he'd ever actually given his number to the man, but he had no doubt that somehow Holmes had access to it. Being a policeman, he had to be cautious. But then again, being a detective, he had to take risks, too.  
"Hello?"

John had just put the kettle on for tea when he got the call. Assuming it was Sherlock- the man had been out all night doing god knew what- he picked it up intending to give him a stern talking-to about eating enough. He hesitated upon seeing the blocked number. Associating with Sherlock made one inherently wary of anything dangerous. In particular, John had good cause to be careful, being well known as Sherlock's best friend and partner. But he hadn't gone with Sherlock to that first crime scene for no reason. John lived for danger. He couldn't help it.  
"Hello?"

Molly had just put on her lab coat ready to cut open a fresh cadaver when she got the call. She sighed. Answering calls during work was such a pain, and she was tempted to let it go to voice mail, but the hope that it might be Sherlock encouraged her to pick up her mobile. Molly didn't think there was anything particularly odd about the blocked number, except that she couldn't think of anyone she'd given her number to recently. She considered ignoring the call, but politeness got the better of her.  
"Hello?"

"Please. Please I don't know who they've called but whoever you are help me!- John, please- aaah- help... Molly, Greg- aaaah!- Mycroft help me I can't-"  
The call cut off.  
The voice was unmistakeably Sherlock's. Sherlock's voice, but tortured, strangled, gasping. Molly turned white and buckled at the knees. John's hand shook as he carefully placed the teapot back down on the table. Greg stared, stunned, at the phone in his hand for a split second before hollering at the top of his voice for assistance.


	2. Tea and Tracing Calls

Half an hour later the three sat in Greg's office with mugs of tea, not that any of them felt particularly like drinking them. John wrapped his hands tightly around the hot cup, not caring if it burnt. Molly stared into hers, barely listening as Greg spoke. Finally, Greg looked directly at the both of them.

"I know this is difficult for you but sitting there moping isn't going to find him," he snapped. His voice softened. "John, I need you to tell me where and when you last saw Sherlock, any leads he might have been following or new cases he was working on."

John shook himself. "Yes, of course, sorry, it's just... after he... well, you know. I-uh, I saw him last night. He left around... Probably about eleven, I was just going to bed. But we haven't had any cases for a while. I assumed he was bored, you know, looking for... looking for trouble..." His voice trailed off.

Greg reached over the desk and placed a hand on John's arm briefly. "It's going to be okay. We'll find him." John offered a tight smile and looked back down at his tea.

"Any ideas why they phoned you, Molly?"

Molly shook her head mutely. Then she looked up for a moment and spoke softly. "Maybe because I helped him when he- when he faked his death. He trusts me." Then she fell silent again, gazing at her tea. Greg wondered what was making the tea so captivating. Could they see the Milky Way in there or something? He sighed.

"No word from Mycroft?"

Neither John nor Molly replied. Greg sighed again. This was going to be difficult.

At that moment, one of the young detectives came rushing in, not bothering to knock.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"We traced the call. We've pinpointed it to this building in the middle of London." The young woman pointed to its location on a map.

"Well, what is the building?" Greg snapped, a little more harshly than he intended.

The woman seemed unperturbed. "That's the odd thing, sir. It's a primary school."

Before the detective could even finish speaking, John had grabbed his coat and was storming out of the building. Greg rushed after him.

"John! John, you can't just race off like that!"

John spun sharply. "Sherlock's in trouble and I'm going to find him. Don't you dare try to stop me, Greg!" he spat.

"No, John, I meant you can't just race off like that on your own." Why was Greg saying that? Stupid. Ignoring all protocol, all common sense. Yet he found himself continuing. "I'm coming with you. We'll take my car. I'll contact backup later to follow us but we'll leave now."

John gazed at Greg for a moment, a shadow of a smile grazing his lips, before he nodded and turned towards the carpark. Just as they reached the car, the two men heard Molly behind them.

"I'm coming too," she called, puffing a little. "They rang me too- don't think you can just leave me behind." Greg said nothing, only opened the door for her. She climbed in and Greg pulled out of the parking lot, sirens blaring.


	3. Danger and Stupidity Are Not a Good Mix

As they drove, weaving through heavy traffic and dodging unwary pedestrians, Greg noticed John becoming more and more tense. Without taking his eyes off the road, Greg reached over and placed one hand on John's knee reassuringly. He noticed John's leg tense before relaxing and, surprisingly, felt John grasp his hand tightly. There was no time to wonder what this meant, however, or to address the warm feeling in his stomach that this gave him, as they were approaching the school and it was vital Greg's attention was on the task ahead.

Greg turned off his lights and sirens. Whoever had Sherlock would know they were coming, but he may as well try to retain a little of the element of surprise. Greg noticed as he cruised into the parking lot that there were very few cars there, particularly for a weekday. In fact, he could count only three- strange for a school with at least, from what he could tell, fifteen buildings. As John unbuckled his seatbelt, Greg raised a hand. "Let me just phone base first."

He speed-dialled Donovan and she answered immediately.

"Everything okay, sir?"

"Has this school been evacuated or something, Donovan?"

"I believe the whole country had a half-day today, sir."

"Ah. Thank you. Oh- and get someone out here ASAP to cover the parking lot. Three cars, unidentified owners but probably belonging to our torturers."

"Yes, sir."Greg hung up and turned to see both Molly and John heading towards the school. They must have left while he was distracted. Sighing heavily, he grabbed his gun, exited the car and, locking the car behind him, ran after the other two.

"Did you two have a plan? Or were you just going to storm in there, make noise and scare our guy off- maybe lose Sherlock too?"

"Lestrade, I know how to enter a hostile building," John said quietly. Greg flinched inwardly at the use of his last name, though he wasn't quite sure why that bit so much. After all, they were colleagues first, friends second. He made a mental note not to question John too often about his tactics. The man was a competent soldier, after all. Unlikely to do anything really foolhardy or dangerous.

Suddenly, Molly stopped in her tracks. "Shhh. Listen." Greg strained his ears and could faintly make out laughter to their west, at the far end of the school.

John shook his head. "I hear nothing."

"Laughter," explained Molly. "And... And moaning. Pain. Probably him."

"What's the bet it's coming from that convieniently isolated classroom?" asked Greg, pointing towards what was indeed a convieniently isolated classroom. And sure enough, as they watched from the relative safety of the office buildings, a man exited the classroom in question, took a piss in the bushes and went back inside. By this point, any plans which any of them might have been able to form simply disintegrated. The ground surrounding the the class was open on all sides. Getting shot was not on any of their bucket lists and neither was getting Sherlock killed by a hasty, poorly-planned move.

At least, he'd assumed that wasn't the plan but it seemed his partners had not recieved the memo. Entirely out of the blue, John started sprinting at full tilt across the courtyard, Molly hot on his heels, and burst through the classroom door. Greg re-evaluated his opinion of John's strategic thinking. Then, gun in hand, Greg followed them, heavily regretting allowing either of them to come.


	4. Bleeding Out

John shouldered the door open with a huge crash as it smashed into the wall. Gun pointed at the centre of the room, he didn't even notice the alcove around the corner just big enough to hide two fully grown men. All he saw was the two apparent criminals sprinting away across the field, already too far away for his hand gun. They must have bolted upon seeing the three coming. John cursed loudly and turned around, banging into Molly as she entered the classroom.

"Oh- sorry," she began apologising immediately. John said nothing, only brushed past her roughly, unconcerned by anything happening around him but merely the fact of Sherlock's apparent disappearance. Another disappearance.

"John?" he vaguel heard Molly ask in an unsure tone. "John, I think there might still be someone here..."

Hesistating, he headed back up the wooden steps into the classroom. Was it possible that Sherlock was in there and he hadn't even noticed? As he passed through the threshold, he absently took in the alcove around the corner where it was indeed entirely possible someone could hide, unseen from the doorway.

"Around here, Molly?" he asked. Receiving no reply, he edged around the blind spot. He heard Greg thumping heavily up the steps into the classroom behind him but barely registered his prescence. He was far more focused on the sight before him. Sherlock stood, wounds covering his face and bare torso and arms, with a knife dripping blood in one hand and Molly lying comatose on the floor before him.

"Oh, Sherlock..."

"John, I didn't... I swear..." Sherlock swayed, weakly gesturing to the open window before collapsing to the ground. John crossed to the window, not noticing his trainers becoming soaked in blood, but saw no-one outside in any direction. More pressing though was the issue of two unconscious people bleeding out on the ground.

"Oh god, oh god..." he muttered before his medical training kicked in. "Greg!" he hollered, not realising the detective had just appeared behind him.

"Right here," Greg answered softly. "What do you need?"

"Your belt, quickly. And then phone an ambulance. Oh and I need a first-aid kit, there should be one in the office somewhere." Greg obliged, not pausing to ask questions. John had already taken off his own belt and fastened it above Sherlock's bicep where a particularly deep wound was bleeding out dangerously fast. He tore off a strip of his shirt and bound it around the wound, then did the same for a head wound and a shoulder wound. He could do nothing for Sherlock's multiple burns and welts at this time, because the more he focused on Sherlock the more laboured Molly's breathing became.

He turned to her. Some part of his brain had registered that she had two stab wounds, one on her leg and one in her stomach, even while he attended to Sherlock. Her femoral artery had been hit which meant the wound in her leg was producing copious amounts of blood. He tightened Greg's belt above the cut and tied another strip of his shirt around it. Then he looked at the greater worry, her stomach wound. There was not a lot he could do for it without a first aid kit save apply pressure and hope for the best so he did exactly that. After what felt like hours, Greg came running back into the classroom.

"I couldn't find it. The first aid kit."

"Shit."

"But the ambulance should be here soon. It won't be long. How are they?"

"Sherlock's injuries are very painful, I should think. But he'll still be alive when the ambulance gets here. Molly...Molly's been stabbed very badly. If I'd realised how badly I would have tended to her first, and then Sherlock... Can you apply pressure to her leg, please?" John couldn't allow himself to become emotional about this. He needed to treat her like any other patient, to keep a cool head. But he couldn't detach himself completely. He found himself praying to a god he didn't believe in for her survival. This was his fault, after all. He'd charged in like some idiot, like some green cadet with no idea of what he'd do when he got to the classroom, no escape plan, no idea how many people would be there, and he'd let Molly follow him. If she died, he'd never forgive himself.


	5. The End to a Long Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kind of short, and by no means brilliant... But it exists! It's finally done, after putting it off for exams and other work and Christmas. And I hope you enjoy it.

What felt like an age later, John heard heavy footsteps thump through the doorway and looked up. The paramedics had arrived, and not a moment too soon. He stood back and let them do their work, aware that this was not the time to make a fuss, then followed them out to where two ambulances waited. He followed the stretcher bearers over to Sherlock’s ambulance and then hesitated. Two ambulances. John was terrified at the thought of leaving Sherlock, even for a moment, but he couldn’t just leave Molly. It was his fault that she was even in an ambulance. If she died on the way… If he chose Sherlock, who would undoubtedly survive, over Molly, and she died, he would never forgive himself.  
Sighing, John strode over to Molly’s ambulance just as they began to close the doors. As he climbed in, he saw Greg jogging over to him.  
“I’ll go with Sherlock, John. He’ll be fine.” John nodded and turned back to Molly, clutching her hand.

Later, in the hospital, Greg and John sat together, waiting for news. Any news. They hadn’t heard a thing since Sherlock and Molly went into theatre and John could only hope that meant both his friends were still alive, at least. Nervously bouncing his leg up and down, John shifted his gaze around the waiting room. He couldn’t seem to stay still, unlike Greg, who seemed completely calm. John threw a glance in the detective’s direction. He was clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. Not so calm, then, perhaps. Without thinking, John reached over and placed his hand on Greg’s. Surprised, the detective turned towards John, and then opened his hand to let John’s slightly smaller one slip inside.  
They waited like that, not talking, for about another hour, until a flustered-looking nurse appeared in front of them.   
“You’re the family of Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper?”  
John looked at Greg, who leaned over and whispered, “I may have told a small fib to ensure we were kept up to date.”  
Nodding at the nurse, John encouraged her to continue.  
She smiled hesitantly. “Miss Hooper’s condition, while unstable, has improved-”  
“She’s going to live?”  
The nurse paused, then nodded. “We believe so, sir. She’s going to live.”  
John and Greg shared a relieved grin.  
“Of course, there is always the possibility of complications. She had lost a lot of blood by the time we got to her, and recovery will be slow. But I have every hope for her full recovery.”  
“And Sherlock?” John interjected when it seemed the nurse was reaching a natural break.  
She frowned. “He’s been responding strangely to the medications. But his wounds were never life-threatening, and he will make a full recovery. Sir, are you aware of any reactions Mr Holmes may have towards any medications?”  
John shook his head. “No idea. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s reacting oddly, though. That is so Sherlock.”  
The nurse nodded and left shortly after.  
John and Greg looked at each other, smiling. Both their friends would survive today. There would not be another funeral. As John yawned, the stress of the day catching up on him, Greg pulled him into his shoulder. John leaned there for a while, considering whether he’d stay at the hospital to wait or go home.   
“Do you want to get takeout with me, John?” asked Greg in a nervous tone of voice John had never heard before. He smiled.  
“Sure.”


End file.
